


Chrysochroa

by SaccharineSalt



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, POV First Person, Post-Golden Morning (Parahumans), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, spoilers for worm, taylor goes to bnha verse, young adult taylor hebert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaccharineSalt/pseuds/SaccharineSalt
Summary: Becoming a hero is hard.It's especially hard for the second time, in an alternate universe, in a foreign country, while still recovering from your last attempt.Here I go again.
Relationships: Danny Hebert & Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver & Aizawa Shouta, Taylor Hebert | Skitter | Weaver & Midoriya Izuku
Comments: 68
Kudos: 146





	1. Peridot 1.1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doin it

Apparently in Japan, any rescuing of people without a “hero license” is “illegal” and known as “vigilantism.” It’s even vigilantism if you don’t kill people, I guess. Which is why my very short attempt at relaunching my career has landed me here, in apparent;y one of the most secure buildings in the country, across a table from a very large mouse-man and a very tired Eraserhead --as he announced himself when arresting me-- both of whom apparently have some kind of “Bring-Your-Own-Hot-Drink” party invitation that they don’t seem inclined to share with me.

Alright, this isn’t a great first impression to make with anyone, but in my defense, I got really bored.

“This is Miss Taylor Hebert,” says the mouse principal to Eraserhead, “and she’s going to be your teacher’s assistant and sidekick from now on.”

From the way Eraserhead coughs into his coffee -- heh, coughee -- I guess this isn’t something that was discussed before this very moment.

“I- what- she’s- Nedzu!” he sputters.

“No, I’m Nedzu. I’d think that after nearly two decades you’d know that, Aizawa.”

“Nedzu, you can’t just assign this girl to be my sidekick,” says Eraserhead -- Aizawa? -- who apparently has decided to ignore “this girl’s” presence in this conversation. What a wonderful start to our working relationship.

“Actually,” I butt-in, “from the way Nedzu-, uh, sensei-- explained it to me,” and this gets another glare sent to the principal, cool, “Since technically this school is an agency, and you work for this agency, and he runs this agency, he kind of… can?”

Aizawa takes a few minutes to think about this, which leaves Nedzu staring at me across the table like I’m a painting and he’s trying to figure out if my image is something floral or something phallic.

I don’t know why that’s the simile that pops into my head, but here we are.

Finally, Aizawa groans and puts his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he says, which is kind of rude.

“Think of it this way, Aizawa! Now you’ll have someone to lighten both of your loads, and you get more time for your little naps!” And with this, he leaves us to bond. Oh joy.

Aizawa sighs and removes his face from his hands. He grabs a sheet of paper left on the table, which from context clues seems to be a list of interview questions that the principal has helpfully left for us.

“First question, I guess. What’s your quirk?”

“...Do you want to know what it currently is or what it should be,” I say, “because currently the answer is basically nothing.”

With a larger sigh than earlier, his face falls back into his hands.

“Explain.”

Oh, this will be interesting.

“Well my… quirk used to be insect manipulation. Then I was involved in a… villain attack and I got shot in the head,” twice, I don’t say. “The most I can do now is tell if there are bugs in the room. There aren’t,in case you were wondering, it’s oddly clean in here.” Really, that’s the most truthful I can be without people getting “concerned,” usually.

It doesn’t work.

He now seems to be attempting to push us hands through his face, and is making a noise that almost makes me want to find a doctor for him. He mumbles something and all I can catch is “broken quirk” and “my problem” before he looks up at me again, right in the eye as he slams back the rest of his coffee in a way that people who aren’t me probably find intimidating.

“Normally,” he starts “I wouldn’t suggest someone recovering from a traumatic brain injury to the extent that they lose quirk functionality becomes a hero, but since Nedzu thinks you have potential and I’m stuck with you, I’m going to save the time I would’ve spent trying to comprehend your situation and just come back to it later.”

“Moving on -- do you have any heroic experience besides your recent vigilante escapades?”

Do I have any heroic experience?

Do I have any heroic experience?

Short answer is yes, long answer requires more half-truths.

“Well, I was part of a teen heroics program” after being a supervillain and subsequently turning myself in “back in the states” in another dimension “from ages 15 to 18.”

Nailed it.

“Do you have a contact number for this program?”

Nevermind.

“I do not.”

“And why not?”

Because it was in another dimension, and oh yeah, “It was destroyed.”

“The contact number was destroyed?”

The world was destroyed.

“The program was completely destroyed in the attack where I was injured. My dad and I moved to Japan for its medical technology.” That’s what I assume, anyway. I have no idea why Contessa would’ve dropped us here otherwise, besides her damn “path to victory.”

Fucking thinkers.

“Of course it was. And you’re how old, now?”

“21,” I say, and hey, a whole truth! At least, if you ignore the fact that this world is 200 or so years ahead of mine. It took forever to get my “correct” birth year down, but a TBI makes a very convenient excuse.

He sighs. I wonder if he gets enough oxygen with how much air he expels. He looks at his list again, sighs, again, and asks,

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

And I just

Stop.

It’s like, I know why I wanted to be a hero at 15. I was the bullied girl, the naive kid who’d had some hurts, which got me a power, and there was really barely any consideration for a path besides becoming a superhero, until one was forced onto me. And I know why I wanted to be a hero at 18, because I’d done some shitty things and I’d atoned, a bit, and just wanted to keep doing good, be good, and of course save as many people from the oncoming apocalypse as possible.  
But now?

Now, I could just… stop, if I wanted. I could live a relatively normal life, get a safe job, spend time with Dad. There’s no apocalypse or endbringers anymore, that I know of, and there are so many other heroes to deal with them if there are.

Am I just bored?

Do I not know how to be normal anymore?

I don’t think that’s it.

“I guess… I guess I got a second chance. I know really well how rare those are,” I start. “I tried, for a while, to just do nothing, but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to stand by and do nothing, y’know? It wouldn’t be fair.” I look up at Aizawa, and he still looks exhausted, but he also looks… sad, I guess. A pretty familiar kind of sadness, of a guy who’s seen some shit. A sadness I think I’ve felt before.

“Life’s not fair, kid. And nothing’s forcing you to make this choice, but it seems like nothing will turn you away, either.” He drops the questionnaire back on the table before standing and stretching. “Welcome to the team, I guess.”

I stand as well.

“I think Nedzu-san already said I was in, but… thanks.”

He rolls his eyes at me before turning to leave.

“C’mon, kid, I’ll get someone to drop you at your place.”

Wait, no, already? Shit.

“Should- uh, shouldn’t we talk more about the position?”

He looks back at me and grins in this really wide, disconcerting way.

“No.”


	2. Peridot 1.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor gets home and someone's not happy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some blunt description of an injury, it's not particularly pretty

A man in a gas mask and cowboy hat drives me home. He’s not one for small talk, apparently, but he’s polite enough is fortunately not too awkward. Unfortunately, I have plenty of time to think about the shitstorm waiting for me.

I take a deep breath before opening the apartment door and… yep, this is going to be fun.

“Uh… hi, Dad,” I say, stupidly.

He’s sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, arms crossed. His face is only slightly red and I have no idea if that’s because he’s calming down from his rage or only just starting to get worked up. With my luck, it’s probably both.

“Taylor Annette Hebert,” he starts, and the middle name is never a good sign. “I should congratulate you.”

It isn’t what I expected, and therefore not what I had practiced with in my head. This makes it much scarier.

“Dad…”

“After all, it’s not every day that I get a call that my daughter has received a  _ wonderful _ position at the biggest  _ hero school _ in the country, after demonstrating her talent with a short  _ vigilante career _ .”

Damn that rat.

“In fact,” he continues, “It’s really surprising considering as far as I knew, said daughter has been at her part-time job at a corner store.”

He looks down at my outfit, and I remember that I never had time to change. It’s black active wear, layered for protection, with a black leather jacket and a black face mask. Not a usual conbini uniform.

“Dad, I can explain-”   
  


“Explain what, Taylor? I thought we were done with this, sneaking around and going who-knows-where at whatever-o’clock, to  _ attack people _ .” He stands. “I guess it’s really lucky this school picked you up before you found another group of sad teenagers to form a criminal empire with.”   
  
Okay, ouch.

“That’s not what vigilante means here, Dad. I was just scaring off muggers and other assholes. I wasn’t really hurting anyone,” that much. “I was basically doing hero work.”

Wow, really strong argument there.

He doesn’t buy it.

“That’s really not much better, Taylor. When you told me you took that job, I was so happy for you. You were finally healing enough to start moving on from our old shit. I can’t believe you went behind my back, again! You’re not 15 anymore!”   
  
I certainly feel like I am.

“You  _ know _ I couldn’t tell you, Dad! This is exactly why! You never would’ve let me go back out there if you knew.”

“Oh, imagine that! A man doesn’t want his one-armed defenseless daughter to go fight and/or do crime in an unfamiliar country! How incredibly rare!”

“I’m not defenseless, Dad! I trained in hand-to-hand for years!”

“Yeeeah, and then you  _ got part of your brain blown out _ , so forgive me if I don’t have the most faith in your abilities. You don’t have your bugs anymore, Taylor. You can’t be Skitter, or Weaver, or-or the other girl anymore. You were strong, yes, but then everything happened and you think you have that strength back but you  _ don’t _ . You’re just you, on your own, and I can’t  _ lose you  _ again!”

Oh.

That’s what he’s concerned about.

Shit.

God, it’s so hard when your dad is an actual person with valid concerns and not just an argument machine.

I have to take a few moments , to figure out what to say.

“Dad, it’s not like that,” I say, much calmer and more placating. “I promise you I’m taking my limits into account. I’ve been doing things as safely as possible -- I’m still fast and agile, even with the arm. People underestimate me still, and especially these days, and we both know what happens when people underestimate me. I have a baton and my pepper spray, and I don’t need anything else. I don’t want or need to be how I used to be. I’m moving forwards, I promise.”

He tries to take some deep breaths.

“I know you’re not defenseless, sweetheart, it’s just… I thought we were  _ done _ . We were both going to be safe and normal and happy and get nice, normal, safe jobs. We don’t have a Panacea who can patch you up anymore, Taylor. You’ve already lost an arm to this kind of life. I don’t want you to come home without the other one, or not come back at all.”

“Dad, I’ve always come back.”

“Yeah, sure, except you wouldn’t have if someone hadn’t cared enough to bring you back. There are so many times you nearly died out there, Taylor, and I can’t just believe you because you say so. You shouldn’t be out there on your own.”

“But I’m  _ not _ on my own! I’m going to be working at a school, with someone directly supervising me while I train again.”

“A direct supervisor that I have not met and don’t know the track record of. And even if this guy’s a teacher, we all know  _ your  _ record with authority. Just- I can’t approve you doing this again, Taylor. Even if you think you can, I know  _ I  _ can’t.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that I’m an adult now, and I don’t actually  _ need _ your approval. I’m not wasting this chance, Dad. I would’ve wanted your support but it’s not the first time I’ve gone without, I guess.”

And with this I make my way to my room, definitely not stomping. By the time I change into another set of activewear and come back out, Dad’s gone too. Probably to calm down.

And after all this tension, I need out. So I do the only thing I can.

I go for a jog. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing arguments is hard
> 
> Thanks to the NWA Discord for advice and encouragements!


	3. Peridot 1.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor goes on a jog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments! I'm happy with the engagement I've been getting, but please remember that this story is just for fun.   
> I'm probably not going to go back and re-read worm to get every detail right, so what I can't quite remember I've been getting from the wiki and tvtropes page.  
> Plus, I reserve the right to fudge things for story reasons!

* * *

In the last few years, jogging has gone from training and fitness to a kind of meditation. Or, sometimes, the opposite of meditation. It’s really a toss-up as to whether my mind will drift to the many, many not-so-great things I’ve done or just get caught on the feeling of my sneakers slapping the pavement and the cool breeze brushing through the hair on my arms. Arm? Arm-and-a-half. Today seems to be mainly focussed outwards with little radio-static snippets of my argument with Dad, that annoying inner-voice telling me unhelpful things like to consider his point of view (which I have) and that I’m not good enough to do this anyway (which I am.)

Look, it’s not like I just started vigilante-ing immediately after being released from the hospital. I really did try to find something else at first. I mean, besides learning japanese and my physical and occupational therapies. I got a conbini job, genuinely, although I didn’t need it with whatever Contessa-stipend we’re on.

Ugh, _Contessa_. She apparently visited a lot in the early days of my recovery. She set Dad up with an apartment, fake ID, fake quirk registration, shit like that. I still have no idea why she left us here. I used to think it was a punishment, dropping us in the cape-capital of this world, watching others with the life I’d never get to have while keeping me away from every friend I’d ever made. But then, why would she try to keep us comfortable like this? And why bring Dad over with me? Hell, why keep me alive at all?

Fucking Contessa.

But now, at least, my brain is steering back to the original topic.

No matter what, I don’t want to mope around at the corner store for the rest of my life. And really, there aren’t many hobby or career options around here that are both interesting and not hero-related in some way. I tried to think of what I did before the apocalypse but 15-18 was pretty much all capes all the time. The best I could come up with was design. I liked making my own costume, didn’t I? And maybe I could go into support or something. But it didn’t feel like enough. I wanted, needed something more… hands-on.

And here I am.

Eraserhead catching me last night was a fluke, honestly. See, my MO is (was) to either sneak up on petty crime already in progress or to play a potential-victim role. Dad was right, a young, disabled woman (such as myself) out on her own at night looks like a pretty promising mugging target, and we don’t live in the most high-profile neighborhood. Unfortunately for the perps, I have weaponry and the element of surprise. I’ll make myself look all sad and helpless in front of someone sketchy, lure them into an alley, then pepper spray them in the face and knock them out with my baton when they try something.

Actually, looking back on it, not the most “legal” or “moral” strategy, but you work with what you have.

Understandably, Eraserhead had seemed like a proper sketchy person. And he actually had been looking for me, since there weren’t that many people fitting the perps’ descriptions of “one-armed woman in all black” running around, so of course he followed me, and I’m proud to say I got a couple good hits in before I was almost immediately arrested.

I slow and stop as I finally reach one of the major landmarks in the area. I’m not sure of its actual name, So I’ve just been calling it “trash beach.” No one really comes here since it’s, y’know, full of trash, but it kind of reminds me of the later days in Brockton Bay. It has decent boardwalks and docks and if I close my eyes I can almost pretend I’m home.

Well, besides the smell.

Turns out, the beach isn’t actually empty today. There’s a man and a boy out there, and it looks like they’re… cleaning? Huh. It seems like a lot for two people, but it’s nice of them to take the time to work on it, assuming that they don’t give up. A project like that would require a lot of patience. Plus, I can feel all of those bugs from here, so a lot of willpower as well.

I rest on one of the benches looking out over the trash beach and just watch them for a while. The man towers over the boy, who’s probably his son. Either the man is extremely tall or the boy is very small. Judging by the refuse around them, it’s a bit of both. It’s cute.

It must be fun to do a big project with your dad like that.

I take a swig of water, stand up, and head home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not read glow worm or ward do not @ me with contessa facts please, she's just very convenient as a plot device.  
> EX  
> Why are they in Japan and not America? Contessa.  
> Where did they get the apartment with Taylor and Danny not really working? Contessa.  
> Why is Contessa potentially acting ooc? Contessa.
> 
> Also, I'm deliberately choosing to not think about some of the, ah, implications for why what Taylor was doing was working, because this isn't that kind of story. I'm here for found family y'all.


	4. Peridot 1.4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taylor makes some friends!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this chapter amused me, personally, so have fun

Today’s my official first day of working with Aizawa. Nedzu is having me work as a teacher’s assistant first, so that we can “get to know each other” before we’re anywhere near a field operation together. That’s good, since I apparently need a hero name and costume. I want to start fresh, so I can’t use either of my previous personas. I’ll have to come up with a new one. That sucks since I’m absolute shit at coming up with names for myself, but that’s a problem for future-Taylor.

I arrive at the front gates of the school, and Aizawa is waiting to escort me inside.

“Good morning,” I say.

He grunts at me, paper coffee cup in-hand and face buried in his scarf.

Alright then.

We pass through the main building’s doors, under an air-curtain. There really doesn’t seem to be any bugs around. Usually in any building, and especially one of this size, I’d be able to feel ants, flies, spiders, maybe some roaches or termites, but there’s absolutely nothing. I can see  _ nothing _ outside of my main senses. It’s… off-putting. I guess Nedzu just really hates bugs?

I’m getting distracted.

“So,” I say, just to break up the  _ nothingness _ , “What do you teach?”

“Homeroom,” Aizawa says.

“Alright,” I say, because apparently I’m the one who needs to keep the conversations going.

“What about other subjects?”

“Nope, just homeroom,” he says.

Okay. Maybe this is some cultural difference, where homeroom is something you can actually teach. At least I don’t need any specialized knowledge.

“When will I get to meet them?”

“Meet who?”

“...your students.”

“What students?”

“The ones in your homeroom?”

“Oh, them. You won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“Meet them.”

“...why not?”

“I don’t have any.”

Uh???

“You don’t… have a homeroom class?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re a homeroom teacher?”

“That’s correct.”

Is this a hallucination? Do I have a fever?

Hesitantly, I ask, “Where did they go?”

He turns to me with one of his disconcerting grins.

“I expelled them all,” he says.

“..all of them?”

“Yep. They didn’t take things seriously enough, and I expelled them.”

I…

Don’t know how to process this. What am I even going to be teacher’s-assisting?

We walk in silence for several minutes, which may be what he wanted anyway.

We stop in front of a door. It’s tall and wide, which makes sense because people in this world are often giant. The door is marked “Teachers’ Lounge.”

“I’m warning you now,” he says, “ that the people inside this room are limelight heroes and teachers, and so, above all else, they are… extroverts.”

And then the asshole shoves me into the room.

Thankfully, there are only two people in the Teachers’ Lounge. Okay, maybe this won’t be so-

“Oh! Aren’t you adorable!”   
  
Bad. This is extremely bad, actually.

A woman with rather large… heroic assets wraps me in a way-too-tight side hug.

“She’s so young! So vibrant! You said she was a vigilante before? What passion!”

She’s unceremoniously grabbed by Aizawa’s scarf and swung into a nearby rolling chair, where she crosses one leg over the other with a pout.

Obviously, this is a common occurrence.

“Eraser,” she purrs, “You know how much I  _ love _ your scarf, but now isn’t the time! Just let me greet your  _ darling _ new sidekick!”

“Yeah, Eraser,” says her companion, a man with very tall hair. Is it a wig?   
“It’s not everyday we get a new listener hanging around! Especially you. I don’t think you've ever had a ‘kick before, yeah?”

Aizawa sighs and retracts his scarf. “Don’t traumatize her on her first day,” he says. Glad to know all other days are fair game.

“Hebert, this is the Voice Hero, Present Mic. The one who assaulted you is the R-Rated Hero, Midnight. They are, unfortunately,” he sighs again, “My friends.”

Do I need to think of an epithet too?

“Eraser,” says Present Mic, “ I cannot believe you! 15 years, and you only introduce me as your ‘friend’?!”

“Yeah, Eraser,” Midnight giggles, “He’s your  _ best friend! _ ”

“Your BFF!”

  
“The absolute  _ closest _ .”

“Two best guy-pals!”

Am I missing something?

“Enough,” Aizawa sighs. He really must do that a lot. “I don’t know why I thought they would actually behave for once-”

  
“Oh but Eraser,” Midnight interrupts, “I’m  _ always _ on my  _ best _ behavior!” She winks at me, which means ‘I Absolutely Do Not.’

Aizawa ignores her. “Midnight is our art history teacher. Mic teaches English. I might loan you out to him on occasion.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” I say, because they do seem nice, if overwhelming. Then, the thoughts that have been percolating in the back of my mind finish brewing, and, just, what the  _ fuck _ are they  _ wearing _ ?!

Mic is wearing all leather, which is probably decent armor-wise, but has to restrict motion somewhat, not even thinking about what it’s like on a hot day. I’d bet his stiff shoulder pads restrict movement as well. That metal thing around his neck, are those speakers? That’s got to be incredibly heavy. I guess it’s only experience that let’s him move around in it so easily. And this isn’t even mentioning the hair. I really hope it’s a wig or something, otherwise it probably takes so much time to style and set, and that’s time that could make a difference in a disaster.

Even worse is Midnight, what the hell is going on with her chest? I doubt fabric does that, normally, did she get it specially made like that on purpose? Why? Maybe it’s fake? Not fake as-in plastic surgery, but fake as in foam pads? Otherwise there’s zero support there, which is difficult to deal with when fighting. The top of the bodysuit in general is skintight, and the material looks really thin, which means probably very little armor. Plus there’s basically nothing protecting her chest, which is where all those really important organs tend to be. And do her heels really need to be four inches? How has she not broken an ankle with those? 

If these are the faculty’s costumes, I have no idea what mine will look like. Will I have to wear it in class? Does the support department even have synthetic spider-silk? It’s not like I can make my own anymore. Hopefully they’ll let me be part of the design process.

Oh shit, the conversation’s been going on without me. Tuning back in-

“Oh, Hebert-chan, you’ve been so quiet,” says Midnight. Yes! Nailed it!

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?”

“Oh. Yeah. Hm. My name is Taylor Hebert. I’m, uh, from America. I wasn’t expecting to be… here, really, but it’s been nice so far. Oh! And my quirk has to do with bugs.”

Mic stiffens.

“Oh,” he says, “Bugs, huh?” He seems very strained.

“It was, uh, nice meeting you, Hebert, but I haaaaave some papers to grade goodbye!” And he runs back out the door.

Was it something I said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Weaver did or didn't come from Taylor's brain but it's really funny to me if she's just really bad at coming up with names for herself. Reminder that Skitter was given to her by the media. I always did prefer Skitter over Weaver as a name, though.
> 
> Also very funny to me is that apparently homeroom teacher is a full-time job, and it's the year where he expelled his entire class, so Aizawa doesn't actually have any other classes as far as I can tell. It's not like Class 1-A has lessons with Vlad King, for example. Therefore, what are Taylor's job requirements? She does not know!
> 
> Also-also, she is a young woman of practicality, so she's going to have some... concerns with mic and midnight's costumes, especially when compared to ultra-rational Aizawa.
> 
> fun fact while looking up Midnight's costume for reference, I did get uh.... distracted... by it, so if that was the intention it certainly is working.

**Author's Note:**

> I did it


End file.
